


From the Heart

by Crysania



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/pseuds/Crysania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Anon on Tumblr prompted "Could you please write a one shot about Belle’s birthday at the Dark Castle?" Since it's also the lovely Emilie de Ravin's birthday, I thought I'd answer that prompt. </p><p>Rumplestiltskin finds out it’s Belle’s birthday and gives her an unexpected present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Heart

He finds her in the library as he usually does, holed up there with a thick book nearly halfway finished. He’s sure it’s a different book than the one she was reading yesterday and he nearly rolls his eyes. At the rate she’s going through the books in the library he’ll have to replace them all in a year. He finds himself rather dismayed at the idea. His library is extensive, but it seems Belle is more than up to the task of reading it all.

“What are you doing?” he asks as he walks in. He’s given her this as her home of sorts, a room for her to hide away in. But that doesn’t mean he’s allowed her free reign of the place, that he cannot step into the room without knocking. Belle knows this and yet still seems surprised at his sudden entrance.

“I’m reading. What does it look like I’m doing?” The words are soft, but he can hear the ire behind them. She never has liked being disturbed when in the midst of a good book. This day she seems more irate than normal. Usually she’s quiet, calm, almost too sweet to him. He had expected tears and anger and instead found someone cheerful, more likely to hum a tune than throw things at him. Oh they argued, no doubt about that. She was willful and he was obstinate. But they generally lived in harmony.

“Reading,” he answers her and knows the answer is stupid before it even passes his lips. “Shouldn’t you be…cleaning or something?”

“All done,” she says without even glancing at him.

“All of it?”

She finally looks up at him and he gets a good look at her. Her eyes look red-rimmed and a little puffy. She narrows her eyes as she speaks. “Not exactly. But enough of it is done.”

He takes a few more steps into the room and stands close by her. She sighs and puts her book down, biting her lower lip as she meets his eyes. “Is everything…alright?” His words are hesitant. He’s not good at these things. He knows she’s been crying. The signs are unmistakable. He had seen enough of those puffy-eyed looks from his son over the years to know what it means.

“I’m fine.” She looks away from him.

These are words he understands all too well. It means she’s _not fine_. He had learned that one the hard way with his wife, watching her get angrier with him when he shrugged and moved off to do some work after she uttered those words. So he knows better this time. “You’re not. You’ve been crying.” He watches her wince and winces right along with her. 

“Yes,” is the only word she utters before looking away, glancing back down at her book.

“Why?”

“Do I have to tell you everything?” she shoots back and he feels his eyebrows shoot up. She’s never been quite this moody and he’s not sure what to make of it.

“Belle,” he mutters and she finally sighs, sets the book aside and stands.

“If you really must know,” she begins with and he nods his assurance. He doesn’t _have_ to know, but he finds he _wants_ to know. There is a difference there he’s not sure he’s entirely comfortable with. He wants to know so he can soothe the pain, so he can somehow take it away and that’s perhaps the most disconcerting thing he’s dealt with in years. “Today is my birthday.”

He’s dumbfounded at this statement.  He had long ago stopped celebrating his own birthday. It seemed pointless when one was immortal and considering what his life had been, there was little there to celebrate. He still had a small remembrance ceremony for his son’s birthday every year. 276 years, but who was counting? Belle had been alive a scant number of years. It was clear birthdays were still important to her.

He simply had never thought to ask.

“And this makes you sad.”

She gives him a look that leaves him feeling a bit sheepish. “Of course it does. I’m not with my family…” She’s been at the castle several months now. He tries to forget that she’s not really there because she _wants_ to be. Sometimes he feels like she’s become his family, the mistress of his castle. She cleans some, but spends most of her time reading and talking to him, choosing to remain in the Great Room with him instead of leaving her for own chambers. He’s never been quite sure when she went from servant to whatever she is now. She’s wormed her way into his life in ways he didn’t expect. She was supposed to be a prize he won in a deal, nothing more.

“Come,” he says, without even thinking of what he’s doing.  He’ll figure it on the way out.

“Where?” He can hear the rustle of her finding a bookmark and closing up her book somewhere behind him and he glances over his shoulder at her before continuing out of the room. She never was one who could handle even a small surprise. Her curiosity always got the better of her.

She follows behind him as he formulates a spell in his mind, something special he could give her for her birthday. He could easily create a lavish feast, presents, a cake, all the things that one might consider appropriate for a birthday. But he knows, somehow, that that is not what Belle would want. Those are _things_ and besides her interest in his books, Belle has not shown much interest in owning anything. They have nice meals every night. Or at least, they do now that he allows magic to bring them food. Belle’s forays into cooking were rather less than desirable.

He leads her to a room in the opposite tower, one that was close by where he worked on his potions. This room was smaller, with nothing in it but one large mirror. Covered of course. Because no sorcerer who valued his own privacy kept uncovered mirrors.

“What is it?” Belle asks as she enters behind him, drawing up short just before running into him. He can feel the heat coming off of her as she stands close behind him in the small room.

“Here, come.” He beckons with one hand, drawing her forward without laying a hand on her. Belle is not quite so hands-off with him. As she steps around him, she lightly touches his upper arm, freezing him in place for a moment. She does it without thinking, this much he knows, but it still stops him in his tracks and muddles his mind every single time.

With a bit of a flourish, for he always did like being a showman, he flings the covering off. Belle steps further forward and he can see her studying her reflection for a moment before meeting his eyes in the mirror. “It’s a mirror?”

“It is.” He gives her a half smile. “Have you ever wondered why I keep these covered?”

Belle turns and meets his eyes for real. “I always thought you didn’t like seeing your own reflection.” The words she speaks are quiet and he has to hold back a bark of laughter.

“Well, that may be true, but that is not the reason to keep them covered. Mirrors are some of the oldest magic Belle.” He reaches out to gently turn her back toward the object in question. “Some allow you to communicate, some to spy on others. This one in particular allows you to travel quickly to other places in the world.”

He lets the words sink in, waits for her to realize what he’s implying. When her eyes widen, he knows she understands. “You’re letting me go home.”

“For a day.”

“I can go home…for a day.”  She speaks slowly, as if she still doesn’t quite believe him.

He waves a hand over the mirror and the throne room of her father’s castle appears, the place he took her from. Her father is there, looking tired, slumped in the throne that Rumplestiltskin once appeared in.  It seems like it was ages ago now that he came there looking for a deal and left with a young woman in tow. Had it really only been months, not years?

“Papa,” Belle whispers and steps forward. Her hand stretches out toward the mirror and Rumplestiltskin stops her, reaching out to gently grasp her forearm.

“One day only Belle. At midnight, the portal closes.” She nods as she looks back at him briefly. “You must be back to the mirror in the throne room to cross back through before the clock strikes midnight.” His voice is quiet and Belle seems to understand that he is serious.

“I will return,” she says and her voice is equally quiet, equally serious.  She takes a step toward the mirror and the tears have dried on her face, her eyes are serene, lips turned up in a small smile. He has done this for her, has made this moment happen. Somewhere deep in the dark pit he calls a heart he feels things shift and make room for this lovely young woman.

He holds his hand to his heart as he speaks his final words. “Your father will not remember this.” The look of pain that crosses her face makes him wince. “It will seem as a dream to him.”

Another nod and then she turns away from him. He releases her arm, not quite realizing until that moment that he still held her back.

And then she is gone, stepping through the mirror. Her father rises and the last thing he sees before the mirror goes blank is her falling into his arms, the tears of joy. He turns away as the mirror shivers slightly and then the images disappear. He does not want to be left with only his own image in the glass.

* * *

Belle has almost no time to process what has just happened when she steps through the mirror. As she appears in the room, stepping out of the mirror that is kept in the corner of the throne room, her father leaps to his feet and stares at her for a moment.

And then he is on her, grabbing her up in his great big arms and hugging her tightly.

“Papa, I can’t breathe,” she says on a smile.

“He has let you go?” His voice is incredulous.

“The ogres, sir.” Belle turns to see one of the soldiers in the room, still as solemn as always.

“For a day, Papa. He has let me go for a day. I have to return by midnight.” She reaches out a hand, smoothes down the mantle of the cape he still wears.

“No, Belle. We cannot let you go back to him.” She hadn’t thought of this possibility. He had let her go the first time. Belle grimaces.

“Papa, I have to. I gave my word…”

“To a beast…”

“To a _man_.” And she realizes she means that. He had lost his sharp edges sometime around the time she fell from the ladder and he had caught her. He still looks beastly, his temper flares and he has black moods that send him to his wheel to spin, but the edges have been worn off. He speaks to her in a man’s voice and watches her with a man’s eyes, despite their otherworldly irises.

“Papa please. It’s my birthday. This was his present to me. Please, can’t we just enjoy what we have?” Belle is frustrated, worried. Is this all she would get? Would she have to turn and go back through the mirror already? It’s early yet, not even noon, and she would prefer to spend the remainder of the day here, with her father and her people. But she knows she can’t go back on her word. She hopes her father won’t force this issue.

Her father looks at her with slightly shuttered eyes and sighs. The soldier steps forward and reminds him once more about the ogres. And finally her father agrees to allow her this day and to her to return after this one day. She doesn’t dare tell him that he won’t remember that she was here, that he’ll believe it was only a dream. It’s still a visit. It’s still better than the alternative.

And if, in the process, she can assure him she’s safe, that she’s happy, then isn’t this all worth it? _She_ will remember for both of them.

They spend the day touring their village. People there are wary of her, but quick to warm up when they see that she’s the same Belle she always was. They exchange pleasantries, simple small talk, share talk of how her sacrifice has saved the village. None ask her how she is faring. None bring up Rumplestiltskin. None ask if she were staying.

She knows that’s to be expected, but still it stings a little bit. She has sacrificed her _life_ for these people and it seems not one can bring themselves to really address that fact. She wants to shout at them, tell them that he’s not what he seems, but she keeps quiet, exchanges pleasantries, and goes on her way.

Her arm remains linked with her father’s the entire time and it’s sometimes easy to slip back into her old life, to forget where she’s been, what she’s seen, whose companion she is now.

Her father brings her to see Gaston and her former betrothed is tight-lipped around her. He is not likely to forget that she chose to go with Rumplestiltskin over remaining in her proper place as his fiancée. She chose adventure over a life with Gaston. It had not been a difficult choice, ultimately.

“Miss Belle,” he says to her, bowing stiffly over her hand. There’s a glint in his eyes as he holds too tight to her hand, releasing it later than is proper.

“Gaston, please,” she murmurs and she tucks her hand in around her side, closing herself off to him.

“Don’t tell me you like _his_ touch better than mine.” The words are said on a sneer and Belle feels a shiver go down her spine. Gaston steps closer, leans over her. She’s forgotten how tall he is and he seems especially tall now as she’s become used to only being around Rumplestiltskin, who is only a scant few inches taller than her. “You were to be _mine_.”

Belle pushes away from him. “I am no man’s possession Gaston. Not Rumplestiltskin’s and certainly not _yours_.”  She turns and walks away. If she never sees Gaston again, it will be too soon.

She hears her father say something to Gaston, his tone somewhat apologetic, before rushing after her.

The rest of the walk around the village is somewhat tense, but Belle refuses to allow it to ruin her mood. She has come back to visit, to see the village as it begins to prosper. This is her doing. This is _Rumplestiltskin’s_ doing. They shouldn’t forget that, though it seems many already have.

She has dinner with her father, a quiet affair for just the two of them. The servants come and go, bringing in dishes, which startles Belle. She’s gotten strangely used to the dishes appearing in front of her, gotten used to the absence of people. Only she and Rumplestiltskin reside in his large castle and in some ways that’s easier for her. She doesn’t have to act a certain way. She can be herself. Rumplestiltskin does not play by society’s rules and for that she is often thankful.

When dinner is over, they retire back to the throne room. Her father sits in his throne, a place that was always the seat of his power and seems now to be the place he draws his strength from. Belle pulls up a chair, settling close by her father, and reaches out to take his hand.

“Papa,” she says and he looks at her. She can see the tired look in his eyes, the dark circles beneath them. He’s been working hard to put their little village back together, to lead the people, despite the loss of his daughter. “I am happy, Papa.” She hopes the words soothe him and is dismayed to see him run his hand over his eyes, shake his head.

“Are you truly, my dear?” Blue eyes meet hers, the color so familiar, so similar to her own.

“I am. He…treats me well.” She won’t speak of the carriage ride, the thief who he nearly killed. He has given her a library the likes of which she never thought she’d see, has given her the freedom to explore the castle and the grounds. He has made his castle a home for her, something she believes even he is not aware of.

“You are his _servant_ ,” her father hisses at her, as if that is somehow the worst thing she could be.

Belle laughs. “Hardly. I bring him tea when he asks for it, straw for when he’s spinning. But I do little else. Papa, he is not so beastly as you think.” She tells him what she can of him, that he speaks kindly to her most of the time, that he is sharply intelligent and challenges her in word and strategy games. She tells him of the library, how she spends much of her time there or in the Great Room reading. She may sweep on occasion, do a little light cleaning, but Rumplestiltskin is not demanding at all. He admits many times that magic can take care of things and so when he wants her attention on him, he simply waves his hand and the cleaning is done.

It happens more frequently these days.

“You…care for this beast, Belle?” Her father’s words are hesitant and Belle has to think on it for a moment. She hasn’t spent time analyzing her feelings for Rumplestiltskin. But she realizes now that she does, that she looks forward to their time together, feels somewhat bereft when he leaves for a deal.

“He’s _not_ a beast, Papa. At least not to me. He’s kind and he treats me well.” They’re honest words and if she’s not willing to look further into her heart at that moment, no one would blame her.

Her father nods and squeezes her hand. “That’s why this is going to be so much harder Belle.” He cannot quite meet her eyes at that moment and as he calls for the guards, Belle draws back.

“Papa…what…” She cannot get the words out before the guards have ahold of her. “What are you doing?” She speaks quietly, sounding calmer than she feels. “I cannot stay. You know this.” Her father waves a hand and the guards pull her a bit further away from him. “The ogres Papa. You cannot withstand them. Keeping me here is _not_ an option.”

And it’s more than that, she realizes. It’s not an option for _her_ either and it’s about more than the ogres.  She doesn’t belong here anymore, perhaps never belonged here. She loves her father dearly, but this is not her home.

The Dark Castle is.

Rumplestiltskin is.

She kicks away from the guards and they release her. It’s clear they expected her to _want_ to stay and weren’t prepared for her resistance. Without sparing a glance at them, she rushes for the mirror. The guards react slowly but do eventually start to come after her. Just as she reaches the mirror she turns back toward her father. “Papa, I’m sorry. I love you. But this is my life now.”

And she steps through the mirror, her old life left behind, the last glimpse of it the deep sadness in her father’s eyes. Once again she doesn’t get a chance to hug him goodbye.

* * *

He’s been standing in front of the mirror all day. He doesn’t expect her to come back. He’s given her a something she didn’t expect, a birthday present to trump all birthday presents. He’s given her her _freedom_. It’s the present she deserves. He hadn’t planned on letting her go, at least not now, not yet.

He wasn’t ready.

He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready.

And so he stands in front of the mirror, one hand on either side of the glass, hesitant to leave where she last was. He imagines he can still feel the warmth from her body when he presses a hand briefly to the cool surface of the mirror.

When the mirror shimmers suddenly he has only a moment to back a foot away before Belle comes rushing through it. Her eyes widen as she careens into him. She’s moving so fast and so unexpectedly that the only thing he can do is bring his arms up around her and hold her tightly to him as he falls backward, Belle cradled to his chest.

His body protects her as they land hard on the floor. He lets out a little “oof” noise.

“Oh!” Belle exclaims. She pushes herself up on her hands and looks down at him. Rumplestiltskin still has his arms wrapped around her waist and she makes no move to shift away from him.

“How was your birthday present, dear?”

She laughs. “It was…illuminating.” 

“How so?” His brow furrows as he looks up at her.

She reaches up one hand, coming to rest more fully on him as she loses her balance slightly. Touching his cheek, she speaks again. “I realized where my true home is.”

And then she rolls away, landing softly on the floor next to him. He stands then, offering her his hand to draw her to her feet. Her true home…could she really mean _here_ , with him? He remembers her thinking him lonely and oh how he had scoffed at the idea.

There was a truth there he had long been denying. He _was_ lonely without her.

“Come my dear,” he says and he waves her through the door. “A spot of chamomile tea before bed?”

She nods, smiles at him. “That sounds like a lovely way to end my birthday.”

Together they descend the stairs to the Great Room, another evening spent relaxing together ahead of them. He’ll spin. She’ll read. And it will all be quiet and perfect and content for a time.


End file.
